Tag Archives: poetry

Four Chambers’ preeminent editor Rosemarie Dombrowski wrote a beautiful and poignant essay entitled, “Academia vs. Poetry: How the Gatekeepers of Contemporary Literature might be Killing It” that was published at the Review Review today (and speaks to a lot of what we’re trying to do here at Four Chambers–and is probably why, of course, we get along with her so well). You can read it here.

In other / similar news: we got reviewed! Read it here. Eternal gratitude + appreciation to Laurence Levey and all the staff at the Review Review for their generous praise and constructive criticism, we look forward to more copy editing / raising those stars for issue 03!

Phoenix, AZ (December 23rd, 2014)… Four Chambers—what people may or may not know is an independent community literary magazine based in Phoenix, Arizona, also a figurative heart—is looking for local authors to write work in response to exhibitions and collections housed in the Phoenix Art Museum so they can put together a boutique chapbook and stage a live performance in the gallery during Art Detour on First Friday, March 6th (submissions for which close Sunday, February 1st 2015).

Art Loves Literature

Sometimes–in all the hubbub of giving greater visibility to the literary arts and encouraging their larger participation in the cultural scene–people don’t have the opportunity to enjoy art as much as they’d like to. To stop for a moment. Breathe. Smell the roses. The important things in life get missed.

So when things come up and literature doesn’t get to spend as much time with art as it would like to, art can get a little sad.

“I mean, I know literature’s been working really hard to create another space in this city where people can come together, have meaningful interactions and build sustainable forms of community and relationship—we’re all so busy trying to do our own thing—it’s just that, well,” art pauses, looks off into the distance and then down. “We just used to have so much fun together. Literature really understood me.” Art sniffs, quavers, and looks up with sad, shining eyes. “I just miss it.”

What happened? Art and literature made each other so happy. They had such a long history. And now, art is completely heartbroken, literature is lonelier than ever, it has no idea what happened, and it has no idea what to do.

Literature Loves Art

So literature called Four Chambers. And after much heartfelt discussion—tears streaming down literature’s face, Four Chambers nodding empathetically on the other line—Four Chambers thinks the best thing literature can do is to ask local authors to go to the Phoenix Art Museum, walk through the galleries, and write something responding to the Museum’s collection of work.

This, the magazine thinks, is the way to win back art’s heart, and will show art that literature cares more than a vintage crockpot from the 1970s or a small yellow cactus in a concrete pot ever could (though both of these would make really great gifts). Then art will understand that literature is truly sorry for whatever it did wrong, people in Phoenix will have a greater sense of cultural cohesiveness and shared identity, and art and literature can continue building the long-lasting relationship they already have.

Four Chambers Loves You

“So all silliness aside,” explains the magazine’s Founder and Editor in Chief Jake Friedman, standing in front of the Art Museum dressed as a baby cupid, “If all we do is help people fall in love with art and / or literature,” adjusting his cloth diaper, shifting the bow and arrow in his hand, “if people can have a slightly more meaningful experience in their life because of this project,” a cold wind causes Friedman to shiver, a wing falling off. “Well…” Friedman shrugs. “That would be a beautiful thing.”

Individuals who are interested in visiting the museum may do so for free every Wednesday evening from 3 to 10 pm or every First Friday night from 6 to 10 pm, and any other time, the Museum is open for a modest and reasonable fee. Four Chambers will also be organizing a tour at the Museum Wednesday January 7th at 6:30 pm. Selected works are available online at http://egallery.phxart.org/.

Four Chambers will also be holding a workshop for the project at Rollover Coffee and Doughnuts (10 W Vernon St, Phoenix AZ 85003) on Saturday January 17th, 1 to 4 pm)

Submissions for the project close Sunday, February 1st, 2015 at 11:59 PM MST.

About Four Chambers Press Local-National

Four Chambers Press is an independent community literary magazine based in Phoenix, AZ that wants to expose you to wonderful literature + give you something to do every once in a while + make your life slightly more meaingful. For more information please visit http://fourchamberspress.com.

I hate running. It’s the absolute worst – it makes me sweat and gasp for breath and I’m NEVER fast enough. People who run for fun, or sport, or to “feel good” or whatever – I will never understand you. Unfortunately, I have significant experience in running, not because I ever wanted to, mind you, but because I have been in so many situations where I’ve had to catch something.

The first time I realized how much I hate running was one of the thousands of times I was late for the bus to school. The bus stop was right down the street from my house, and the bus driver was always tickled by any chance she got to drive right past me as I stood yelling at the end of my driveway – shoes untied, hair un-brushed, completed homework still sitting on the coffee table.

This particular time, I was determined not to give her this satisfaction. So, in my usual late-and-pissed-off state, I bolted down my driveway, (which was a large and steep dirt hill, by the way), but didn’t make it all the way down without eating some dirt, of course. I had to have fallen at least three times on the way down the street – never successfully completing a perfect somersault however hard I tried – eyes focused on the idle bus at the corner, daring it to drive past me now.

My classmates clapped wildly as I made my way to my usual spot in the back, which was both mean and funny of them.

I know that it’s not fair to blame the act of running for my lateness and untied shoes. However, I’ve had plenty of unpleasant running experiences while my shoes were tied. I chased my dog Tillie when she ran away about once a month, and pages 13-48 of my script for Our Town when I was a senior in high school and FINALLY got the lead in the spring play. I chased a few baseballs when they were hit toward my post in left field, and when there weren’t any baseballs to catch, I was being chased by lots and lots of mosquitoes.
Most of my attempts to catch things by running after them were unsuccessful.

So I’d like to use this time to inform all of you that I have given up running.

I’d also like to inform all of you of our Literary Flash Mob this Saturday, September 13!

PART ONE OF AN IRRELEVANT AND SCATTERED PERSONAL ESSAY ABOUT MY VARIOUS RELATIONSHIPS WITH FOOD

I didn’t eat a lot in college. I don’t know why, exactly. Granted there’s something to be said for the quality of the offerings–our dining hall was named Englar, we called the food Glarbage, we spent a lot of time talking about how the people who ran the cafeteria provided similar services for jails / prisons–I think I just wasn’t interested in eating. Like, why bother with food when I could be, I don’t know, reading a book! writing a paper! talking a lot in class! drinking crappy beer in the same crappy apartment week after week! reading more books! repressing anxiety! frenetically lifting weights!

It’s not that I couldn’t have eaten food if I had really wanted to. Other people ate food. Nobody was hiding it from me. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. You just went out and got some. But I was so introverted, clearly repressing a lot of anxiety, not to mention a late bloomer in high school to boot, that I guess I just never realized it.

When I finally became intestinally active, my relationships with food were wild, passionate affairs. I couldn’t control myself. I’d buy big bottles of fancy lemonade and down them before I even made it to the parking lot. I could barely walk through the aisles without having some kind of gastronomic fantasy. I would see a juicy peach and, in my imagination, I would take it home and make a delicious pickled chutney. Those artichokes? I would slow roast them with fennel and white balsamic and eat out their hearts.

In reality, I simply wasted time and money and made a lot of mistakes. That peach? It sat in the basket and withered in the heat. Those artichokes? Molded. The trash. One time I even took home a can of sardines thinking I would eat it with saltines or something. They’re still in the cabinet. I don’t know what I was thinking.

And the fact remained that, though the meals I had were satisfying in themselves, I was ultimately, always, inevitably wanting more. The fuller I found myself, the emptier I became. Everything turned to shit. And so I finally decided that I would just stop eating.

And it is on this relatively down note that we continue our tradition of bringing the best fresh, local, organic contemporary literature to the Downtown Phoenix Public Market to begin our second season of